


Comfort In Memories Living in the Ground

by PennamePersona



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mourning, Remembering Lost Love Ones At Christmas, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 18:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17188346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennamePersona/pseuds/PennamePersona
Summary: Peter Parker sits in a graveyard on Christmas Eve, which feels pretty dramatic.orMourning never really gets easier, but with someone who understands, it's at least easier to breathe.





	Comfort In Memories Living in the Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldenwatcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenwatcher/gifts).



> This is a secret santa fic for tumblr user goldenwatcher! Sorry it's coming a bit late, I hope you like it!

Peter Parker sits in a graveyard on Christmas Eve, which feels pretty dramatic.

 

In his defense, he didn’t actually know it was Christmas Eve. He’s always been good at losing track of time, especially since he started up on the whole vigilante thing, which, admittedly, was quite a while ago.

 

“Nine years, Uncle Ben,” He says, softly. “I’ve been doing this Spider-Man thing for  _ nine years _ .” 

 

Uncle Ben’s gravestone does not respond, but then again, it never has. Sometimes, Peter just likes to come here and talk to Uncle Ben like he can’t talk to Aunt May, because then she’d get way too worried. He can’t make her panic like that, not when he’s held out fine since sixteen, relatively speaking.

 

“I’m twenty-five now,” He continues. “Doing grad school. I think you’d be proud of my thesis. I honestly don’t think I’m awake enough to fully get into all of what it is, but I’ll tell you what, being bitten by a radioactive spider really has made me an interesting scientific case study.”

 

A crash echoes through the cemetery just then, followed quickly by a very loud shout of, “Fuck!”

 

Peter shrieks, without meaning to, which gets a flowerpot thrown at his head.

 

“Who goes there!” Deadpool shouts, peeking out from behind a large angel statue. “A fellow mourner, perhaps? This late on a holiday eve?”

 

“Deadpool?” Peter asks, which gets him an eyeful of Deadpool’s mask in seconds.

 

“Spidey?” He asks, mask eyes wide. “What’re you doing here?”

 

“What did you break?” Peter asks, glad now that he didn’t take off his mask. Not that he doesn’t trust Wade, more that it’s always awkward meeting in civilian settings when one or both of them isn’t expecting their  _ other _ lives to collide.

 

Well. That’s really only an issue for Peter. For Wade, this is his only life.

 

“Flower stand,” Deadpool says, softly. “Sorry to interrupt.”

 

“No worries, man,” Peter sighs. “I should get going, anyway.”

 

He stands up and shoots a web at the nearby church wall without waiting for a reply, swinging away within seconds.

 

“Maybe I’ll see you around!” Deadpool calls after him.

 

“Maybe!” Peter shouts back.

 

* * *

 

“So,” Wade says, sliding through Peter’s window. “Fancy seeing you here.”

 

“Hey,” Peter says, hands around his knees. He’s sitting on the sofa, staring at the blank television. “Did you know it’s Christmas?”

 

Wade plops down next to Peter and strikes a thoughtful pose.

 

“Huh.” He says, tilting his head to the side. “Damn, it is, isn’t it?”

 

Peter hums, leaning against Wade’s shoulder. Wade immediately shifts to that his arm is around Peter, holding him softly.

 

“Visiting family?” He asks, more quietly than Peter generally hears him.

 

“Uncle Ben,” Peter says. 

 

Wade lets out a long, low whistle. He adjusts his arms so that Peter ends up in his lap, held against his chest.

 

“You never forget your first.” He says, and Peter groans into him.

 

“I watched him go, Wade,” Peter whispers. “It  _ sucked _ .”

 

“Yeah,” Wade says. “I know, Petey. Never gets easier.”

 

“It was so long ago, though,” Peter says, the tears finally starting to prick at his eyes. “Nine years, Wade, it’s been….”

 

He cuts himself off with a sob, and Wade’s arms tighten around him. 

 

“Hey, it’s alright, spider-babe,” Wade says, soft and sweet. “Let it out. It doesn’t have to be okay, not tonight.”

 

Peter tries to breathe in, but only chokes on his own tears, sobbing more fully into Wade’s shoulder. He loses track of time, barely aware of Wade’s quiet attempts at soothing sounds, sifting through his memories of nine years worth of mourning.

 

“It’s so hard,” Peter coughs out, his sobbing starting to die down. “Trying to forgive myself.”

 

“Now that,” Wade says. “That I understand perfectly.”

 

Peter looks up, then, watching Wade through still-drying eyes.

 

“I’ve had a lot of people die on my watch,” Wade says, looking up at the ceiling. “I had to convince myself to keep going every time. Still don’t know if I really managed it.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Peter says, but the words sound hollow through his throat that’s so hoarse from his own tears.

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Wade says, looking back down at Peter. “Still sucks.”

 

Peter lets out a long sigh.

 

“Yeah,” He says. “It does.”

 

They leave the moment to silence after that, Peter focusing mostly on catching his breath while he leans into Wade, not sure what’s going through his boyfriend’s head, now.

 

<line break>

 

“Can I meet him?” Wade asks, a week later, while they’re sitting on a rooftop after patrolling the city. 

 

“What?” Peter asks. He’s halfway through pulling up his mask, holding a paper bag full of greasy street food, with no idea what his boyfriend is talking about.

 

“Your uncle,” Wade says, making grabby hands for the paper bag. Peter wordlessly hands it to him, struck nonverbal by Wade’s request.

 

Luckily, Wade seems to understand that just fine. He lets Peter think all while they eat, keeping up a low chatter with himself, which is really about as silent as Wade ever usually gets.

 

Once they finish their food, Peter stretches a bit, loosening his joints as kindly as he can in a short time, and grabs Wade’s hand.

 

“C’mon,” He says. “Before I lose my nerve.”

 

* * *

 

The graveyard is quiet, as it usually is. They didn’t bury Ben in a large cemetery, so Peter’s never met many fellow mourners, here. That works out well for their current situation; Spider-Man and Deadpool together in a random graveyard would be a hell of a thing to have photo proof of, and Peter’s not looking to break his “Weirdest Mass Headline” record tonight.

 

“This is him,” Peter says, gesturing to Uncle Ben’s headstone. It’s simple, just a good-sized rectangle with his name, birth and death dates, and a small epitaph.

 

_ Remembered with love, fondness, and respect. _

 

“Huh,” Wade says. “Sounds about right.”

 

Peter only hums, struck with emotion as he always is, in front of his uncle’s grave.

 

“Thank you,” Wade says, kneeling in front of Ben’s grave. “You did some good work.”

 

Peter finds himself on his knees as well, very quickly.

 

“I’ve heard a lot of good about you,” Wade continues. “And I know Peter’s no liar. If he respects you like that, you must’ve earned it.”

 

Peter isn’t sure how long they sit there, Wade talking to his uncle, but it’s one of the most soothing nights he’s had in nine years.

 

“Thank you,” He says, later, when they’re leaving.

 

“My pleasure,” Wade says, tossing his arm around Peter’s shoulders. 

  
_ Thank you _ , Peter thinks, picturing his uncle’s headstone.  _ For everything _ .

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays!
> 
> I take writing requests! Information at: [provisionalpenname on tumblr](https://provisionalpenname.tumblr.com)


End file.
